


lacuna

by suituuup



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/F, Friendship, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23424262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suituuup/pseuds/suituuup
Summary: The sky is a moody grey. Beca's memories are fuzzy; she doesn’t remember much except stripping down to her underwear and lowering herself into the filled bathtub. Tigger warning: mentions of suicide attempt, no explicit scenes
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 22
Kudos: 189





	lacuna

**Author's Note:**

> lacuna: a blank space, a missing part

There’s light. 

Her brain can’t get her lids to open, but she _knows_. She knows and she wants to scream. 

Even this, she messed up. 

The steady beeping sound is the next thing she registers, followed by the pressure around her pointer finger. The scratchiness of the blouse and how dry her throat feels. Her right arm pulsing beneath the heavy bandage. 

“Bec?” Her dad’s voice. “Beca, honey, can you hear me?” 

Beca’s first instinct is to roll away from him and curl up in a ball, but her entire body _hurts_. 

She supposes she’s only got herself to blame for that one. 

Something between a huff and a grumble puffs past her chapped lips and she squints against the harsh light. 

“It’s okay honey,” her father coaxes with a voice gentler than she’d ever heard it before. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“A’one,” Beca whines, her tongue too swollen and dry to properly make an L sound. 

“Beca?” 

“Out,” she manages a few beats later. “Get out.” 

Her vision is too blurry for her to catch the way her father’s features drop, or the tears swimming in his eyes. He squeezes his hand. “I’ll go get the doctor.” 

As the door flaps after his departure, Beca twists her head to stare out the small window. The sky is a moody grey. Her memories are fuzzy; she doesn’t remember much except stripping down to her underwear and lowering herself into the filled bathtub. 

Some fancy psychiatrist fresh out of Harvard or some other presitgious Ivy League school comes to talk to her a few hours later and decides that she’s still in a mental state where she can possibly harm herself and put her own life in danger. 

She’s transferred to the psych ward the following day. The bed isn’t very comfortable, they took away her headphones because she could strangle herself with the chord, and she isn’t allowed any visitors yet. 

She wakes up every day at 7:30 a.m., takes her pills at 8:00 a.m., wanders around aimlessly until 9:00 a.m., goes to group therapy, has lunch, wanders around aimlessly some more until afternoon group therapy, eats dinner, wanders around aimlessly until her bedtime. 

And all over again the next day. 

She’s never felt this lonely and part of her is terrified she’ll never get out of here. 

The doctor clears her for visitors on the fourth day, and her dad spends the morning with her before he has to leave for classes. Beca’s next visitor is sitting in the chair by the window when she comes home from her afternoon group therapy. Beca freezes in the doorway when she sees who that is. 

“Hi,” Chloe greets quietly, and Beca catches the pity swirling in her eyes. 

She knows she looks terrible; scary even, perhaps. She’s thin, not having eaten much of the plastic food they serve here (not that she has much of an appetite anyway), dark circles underline her eyes and her skin is a ghostly pale. 

“Hey,” she replies just as quietly, shuffling to her bed and climbing in. 

Chloe stands and steps closer. “I um, brought you some stuff from the house.” 

Beca screws her eyes shut and presses the heel of her palm to her forehead. She doesn’t want Chloe to see her so vulnerable. She doesn’t want her to see how broken she is. “I-I appreciate you stopping by but… I really don’t feel like seeing anyone. Can you—can you please go?” 

Chloe is silent for a few beats. “Y-yeah. Sorry I assumed… I’ll-I’ll just go.” She places the large reusable shopping bag on the bed by Beca’s feet, then meets Beca’s eyes briefly. “Bye, Becs.” 

Beca’s eyes flutter shut at the same time the door does, letting a few tears escape as she tilts her head back against the pillow. 

After dinner, she goes through the bag Chloe brought. It contains her favorite hoodie (she doesn’t know if Chloe knows it’s her favorite or if it’s just a random pick, but the former wouldn’t surprise her), without the drawstrings which the security probably took off for Beca’s safety. Fluffy socks, leggings, magazines, a couple novels, a coloring book and crayons, herbal tea, skittles in a tupperware — Beca realizes Chloe took out all the orange ones because Beca hates them — and a soft throw blanket Beca has never seen around the house before.

She grabs her phone off the bedside table and opens up her message app. 

**Beca (7:01p)**

_Thanks for bringing me all this stuff. I’m sorry about earlier, Chlo._

**Chloe (7:05p)**

_Don’t apologize. I should have asked you beforehand._

**Beca (7:06p)**

_I’ll tell you when I feel a bit better, alright?_

**Chloe (7:06p)**

_Okay. We love you. ❤️_

It takes Beca another week to gather the courage to see anyone else apart from her dad. Her mental health improves a little bit more each day, thanks to therapy and the meds they’ve been giving her for her anxiety. 

She texts Chloe that Friday night, asking her if she’d like to come on Saturday afternoon. Beca is fiddling with a mix when a knock comes around 2p.m., a small smile -perhaps the first one in a week- gracing her lips upon seeing Chloe in the doorway. 

Beca waves her in. “Hey.” 

“Hi,” Chloe greets back, settling down on the chair by Beca’s bed. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and crosses her legs. Beca can tell she’s nervous. ‘How-how are you?” 

Beca shrugs. “Better? I think. The meds they give me help a lot.” 

“That’s good,” Chloe says softly. “I hope you get to come home soon. I miss my _The Bachelor_ binging buddy.” 

Beca groans, tilting her head back. “Please, feel free to watch those without me.” 

A giggle flits through Chloe’s lips. “ _Fine_ , I will. Don’t come complaining later.” 

“Pretty sure I won’t,” Beca assures her, wrinkling her nose. She’s only into it because Chloe is a snuggler, and she’ll never admit it aloud, but Beca likes Chloe’s cuddles. She couldn’t care less about _The Bachelor_. “Not sure when I’m getting out yet, but I was told it shouldn’t be too long, now.” 

“I’m losing God!” Carries loudly from the hallway, causing Chloe to glance over her shoulder in surprise. “He’s gone!”

“That’s… one of my neighbors,” Beca explains, sharing a look with Chloe. “She’s sweet, but all she does is talk about God and Faith.” 

Chloe chuckles. “Did you make any friends?” 

“A couple. Two guys about our age. They’re into music, too. It’s not as lonely as if felt the first few days, now.” 

“Good.” Chloe nods with a smile. “I’m glad.”

“I’m supposed to move in with my dad once I get out.” It’s one of the conditions for her to be discharged, even though she’d much rather move back into the Bellas house. “But I’ll see you guys at rehearsals a few times a week. We’ve got the Worlds to win, right?” At Chloe’s surprised expression, Beca inhales deeply. “I need to have something to focus on. That’s— it’s the only way I’ll keep my mind away from dark places.” 

“Okay.” Chloe rests her hand atop Beca’s. “We’re going to nail the worlds and beat those German dickheads.” 

Beca nods. “I have a few ideas for a playlist if you wanna hear ‘em?” 

“Totes!” 

Chloe sticks around until the end of visitation hours, going through her choreography ideas (and demonstrating of course) to go with Beca’s setlist. 

“Do you want to come back tomorrow?” Beca screws her eyes shut and wrinkles her nose, shaking her head faintly. “Sorry, you don’t have to. You probably have better things to do than—”

“Want me to bring you something for lunch?” Chloe interrupts Beca’s rambling. “Perhaps a… beef burrito supreme from Taco Bell?” 

“Sure,” Beca murmurs, unable to express how appreciative she feels. She’s surprised Chloe know her go-to order. Her mouth waters at the prospect of eating anything else than hospital food. “Thank you.” 

She’s discharged a week later, sixteen days after she attempted to take her own life. Her father picks her up and drives her to the house he shares with Sheila and her two immature teenage sons. 

The first few days are ok-ish; she can tell her dad tries to find the right balance between being overbearing but still showing Beca he’s there for her, while Sheila checks up on her every single hour to make sure she didn’t slit her wrists or downed a bottle of painkillers and that her bedroom door is left often. 

(There’s also no lock on the bedroom and bathroom doors.)

Thankfully, the step-monsters leave her alone, too busy with teenagers stuff to really care. 

She goes back to class the following week, three weeks to the date she was brought into the ER. It feels nice to get back to a routine. In addition to school, she goes to the therapist once a week and has Bella rehearsals three times a week. 

The Bellas welcome her with warm hugs and don’t step around or ignore what happened, telling Beca they’re so glad she’s still here, before seamlessly falling back into their typical banter. 

“Wanna hang out tomorrow?” Chloe asks her as they leave the auditorium, hiking her gym bag over her shoulder. 

“Yes please,” Beca instantly agrees. “Anything to get me out of Sheila’s sight.” Beca knows her step-mom means well, but she feels like she’s suffocating. “I’ve just got therapy at eleven, otherwise I’m free.” 

“I can pick you up after your session and we could grab some lunch?”

Beca nods, a small smile curving her lips. Being around Chloe is the only thing that brings her a glimmer of hope as she battles against her own mind. “That sounds good.” 

A jolt of electricity travels her body when Chloe’s hand slides into hers, giving it a soft squeeze before letting go. “See you tomorrow, Becs.” 

“See ya,” Beca returns quietly, staring after Chloe as she walks in the opposite direction. 

Little by little, Beca feels like a semblance of herself again. It takes a couple months, many therapy sessions and a lot of support from her friends. Her dad trusts her improvement enough to let her move back into the Bellas house for the month left before graduation, as long as she regularly checks in with him. 

She’s better. Better might be an overstatement, she knows. By that she means that she’s reached the limbo state where she’s not actively suicidal but not quite present in living either. 

Her future is blurrier than it’s ever been as she doesn’t have anything waiting for her after graduation. There’s always LA but… Beca doesn’t know anybody there and she knows she needs a support system. 

So when Chloe asks her if she wants to move to New York with her, Beca bites on her tongue not to say yes right away. It’s the first time in a long while she actually feels a semblance of excitement over something. 

Maybe it’s because that something has to do with Chloe. 

“What are you going to do over there?” She asks tentatively, after a beat. They’ve been studying in Chloe’s bedroom; Beca on Chloe’s bed while Chloe sits at her desk. 

Chloe lifts a shoulder, toying with the pen in her hand. “I dunno. Apply to jobs and have fun?” 

That draws a chuckle from Beca. “New York is like, crazy expensive dude.” 

“Why do you think I’m asking you to come with?” Beca knows she’s just joking, that she genuinely wants Beca to come with. “I need someone to split the rent for the walk-in closet we’re going to end up living in.” 

“Wow, now you’re really selling it,” Beca deadpans, then heavies out a sigh, making it sound like it pains her to accept. “But I guess there could be worse alternatives than moving to NYC with you.” 

“Is that a yes in Beca language?” Chloe teases, barely holding back her excited grin. She looks like she’s about to launch forward to smother Beca into a hug and Beca braces herself as she nods. A squeal reaches her ears and exactly what she was afraid of unfolds. 

“Jesus,” she huffs, awkwardly hugging Chloe back and trying to not think about how nice Chloe’s body feels pressed up against hers. “Alright, get off me, weirdo.” 

Chloe shifts onto her side, resting her head on the pillows. Her expression softens, warmth and affection emitting from her gaze. Beca’s breathing derails as she loses herself in those baby blues she’s always been enraptured with. “I love you. I’m sorry things got so bad for you and I wish I could have helped you.” 

Beca feels her chest tighten, and she blinks back the tears pricking behind her eyes. She covers Chloe’s hand resting on the mattress in the space between their bodies, squeezing it. “You _are_ helping, Chlo.” 

Chloe tugs her into another embrace, its warmth traveling through Beca’s body right into her soul and melting some of that suffocating sadness away. 

Beca doesn’t know how long they stay like this, but she decides there’s no other place she’d rather be. 

*

The next few weeks are a whirlwind of emotions. 

Beca never thought she would see herself graduating college, but here she is. Clad in a forest green and gold gown with a cap over her head. She cheers loudly for each Bella and flushes when they do the same as she walks across the stage to get her diploma. 

They win the Worlds and take their final bow as the Barden Bellas. She and Chloe move to New York, staying in an Airbnb until they find a small studio in Brooklyn a couple weeks later. There’s only one bed, but Beca assures Chloe she doesn’t mind sharing, though her heart is about to beat out of her chest and her palms sweat at the mere thought of falling asleep and waking up to the girl she’s had this massive crush on for the last four years. 

Chloe finds a job in marketing within the first month, while Beca struggles a bit getting used to the pace of New York City. She applies to the few music production jobs she finds online but doesn’t hear back, ending up finding a barista job at the Starbucks just around the corner from their place. 

It’s not long before she finds herself slipping into that depressive state again; before the voices inside her head gang up on her. 

Getting up in the morning becomes harder.

She manages to hide it from Chloe enough that Chloe doesn’t seem to get worried. She’s busy anyway, and isn’t home often. Beca can’t be upset about that. She is thrilled for her best friend for landing such a high-responsibility job right out of college, though that dark part of her mind can’t help but compare her success to Beca’s failure. 

She hits rock bottom when she gets fired, and instead of unpacking the razor blades she bought earlier, she texts Chloe. 

**Beca**

_Hey. Are you home soon?_

The reply comes three minutes later, during which Beca rocks herself on the edge of the bed, struggling to breathe.

**Chloe**

_Not for another hour. Everything ok?_

Beca wants to lie, because the last thing Chloe needs in her busy life is have to deal with Beca’s stupid issues. But then she remembers Chloe saying she wished she could have helped Beca before her first attempt and replies with shaky fingers.

**Beca**

_No. Not really._

**Chloe**

_Hang tight. Omw._

She’s still in the same spot when Chloe steps inside sometime later. Chloe gently sits down next to her, concern swirling in her blue eyes. “Bec? Talk to me?” 

“There’s a pack of razors in the bathroom.” Beca’s voice quivers as she timidly meets Chloe’s gaze, shame flashing in her eyes. “Can you get rid of it, please?” 

If Chloe is freaking out, she doesn’t show it. She nods and pads down the hall towards the bathroom, then goes out the door and is gone for a couple minutes to dispose of them, Beca guesses. 

“Thanks,” Beca mumbles, drawing her knees up and hugging them to her chest. “Sorry for making you leave work early.” 

“No, hey,” Chloe coaxes, reaching out to lay a hand on Beca’s knee. “Never apologize for reaching out, okay? I’m so _so_ proud of you for doing it. I know you must feel like you just took a bunch of steps backwards by…” She swallows. “... _considering_ it, but reaching out for help is already a huge deal, Bec.” 

“Yeah…” Beca whispers, unconvinced. Her emotions are hanging by a thread ready to snap and she blinks back the tears flooding her eyes. Some silently slide down her cheeks, curling around her chin and falling on her denim-clad leg. 

She feels broken beyond repair. 

“I’m not…” Chloe closes her eyes, and Beca can tell she’s frustrated. Not with Beca, but with herself. “I’m not sure what to say that can actively help you, except telling you that I love you and I’m here for you, but... I don’t feel like that’s enough.” Her thumb rubs Beca’s knee back and forth through the material of her jeans. “Maybe… maybe seeking professional help again might be a good idea? Or calling your psychiatrist so she can adjust your meds?”

Beca puffs out a breath, pondering. She’s got two options. She can either kill herself or end the patterns in her life that are killing her. 

“Okay. Yeah.” 

As Beca walks to the therapist for her first session a few days later, Chloe’s words echo in a loop in her mind. This isn’t a step backward. Her knees hit a hurdle, but she got back up. She picks up her new meds on the way home and finds Chloe cooking dinner when she steps through the door. 

“Hi!” Chloe chirps when she catches sight of Beca. “Perfect timing. Dinner’s ready in five.” 

“Thanks, Chlo,” Beca says as she pulls the strap of her satchel over her head and sets it on the floor. After toeing off her sneakers, she ventures into the kitchen, wringing her hands as she leans against the counter. “So um, I got fired from Starbucks a week ago.” She doesn’t dare look at Chloe as she says it, digging her nails into her palm and curling her toes in the soles of her shoes. “I didn’t— I stopped showing up. I’ll— I’ll find something else, okay? I don’t know if I’ll be able to make this month’s rent but I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. I promise.” 

“Hey.” Chloe sets her spatula down and reaches for Beca’s hand as she steps closer. “Don’t worry about that, ‘K? I can cover for the both of us for a little while.” 

Beca nods, her shoulders slumping as she releases a breath. “Thanks. For that and for literally everything else.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Chloe says, casting Beca a soft wink. “Wanna pick something to watch while we eat?” 

“Sure thing.” 

Beca doesn’t pay much attention to the sitcom she picked out, too distracted by Chloe’s bouts of laughter. She finds herself staring at her best friend’s profile with a small smile gracing her lips, and her chest feels tight becauses she wishes she could just lean forward to brush a kiss to the corner of Chloe’s mouth. 

The neon light flashing the word _BROKEN_ inside her brain tugs her out of her fantasy, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. She’s just not good enough for Chloe Beale, the girl who deserves the sun, the stars and the moon. 

“Love you,” Chloe whispers an hour later as she turns on her side, ready to go to sleep. 

Beca isn’t tired yet and plans on messing with some mixes, her laptop propped in her lap. “Night, Chlo. Love you, too.” 

Maybe one day she’ll like a version of herself enough to tell Chloe just in what _way_ she does.

*

She’s not sure she can do this. 

Three weeks have passed. Beca applied to any music-related job she could find, even selling records in a shop. Then she nailed an interview for assistant producer in one of NYC’s biggest labels. The meeting went surprisingly well despite her high level of anxiety, and she was emailed the following day with a call-back for an interview in seven days. A few tracks were attached, with which Beca was expected to make an arrangement and present it at the follow-up interview. 

She was pretty satisfied of what she came up with, but now, sitting in the waiting room waiting to be called, Beca is a huge ball of nerves. 

The kind of nerves that makes her want to bolt and go home. Just as she’s seriously considering that option, her phone chimes in her leather jacket pocket. 

**Chloe**

_You’ve got this, Bec. You track is aca-awesome!_

Beca releases a shaky breath, nodding to herself. Leave it to Chloe to come up with exactly what she needed to hear. It’s like Chloe knows Beca better than herself sometimes. 

The producers seem to be impressed with her proposition, but Beca tries not to get her hopes up as she walks home. 

“How did it go?” Chloe asks as soon as Beca steps inside their tiny studio. She’s sat at the kitchen table with her computer opened in front of her, her hair up in a messy bun and glasses on her nose. 

Beca thinks she’s really cute when she has her glasses on. Well, she thinks Chloe’s cute just about every second of every day, actually. 

“It went okay, I think? They seemed to like the track and said they would call me.” Her phone goes off in her pocket and she pulls it out, casting a glance to Chloe. “It’s them.” Beca clears her throat and swipes her shaky thumb across the screen to accept the call. “Hello, this is Beca Mitchell speaking… yes… what? Really? Holy shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to curse. Yep, yes. I’ll be there on Monday. Thank you, sir.”

She got the fucking job. For the same label who started Bruno Mars and Ed Sheeran, to name a few. 

“Oh my god,” Beca breathes once she’s hung up, pride and relief swirling in her chest. Her eyes find Chloe’s, who pushes to her feet. “I got the job.” 

The squeal Chloe emits damn near damages her eardrum and Chloe flings herself into Beca’s arms, holding her tight. “I’m so proud of you,” Chloe murmurs into her ear, and that means more to Beca than actually getting that job. 

“Thanks,” Beca mumbles back, closing her eyes and inhaling Chloe’s scent as she squeezes back just as tight, never wanting to let go. 

She realizes Chloe is _crying_ when she backs away and Beca feels her own eyes get misty because she’s come a long fucking way to get where she is right now. 

And for the first time in years, a decade maybe, she feels like she’s right where she’s supposed to be. 

*

“What do I add next?” Beca asks once she’s poured the sugar into the main recipient. 

Chloe coaxed her into making Christmas cookies. 

While wearing Christmas sweaters. 

And singing Christmas carols. 

_Honestly._

It’s almost been a year since her suicide attempt, and while some days are very dark, they’re fewer than the good days, and that’s what matters. That’s what gives Beca the will to keep fighting.

“Mmm,” Chloe hums as she follows the recipe on the book. “One handful of flour.” 

Beca’s eyebrow twitches in a frown. “A handful? What kind of recipe is _that_?” She takes one step towards Chloe to glance at the book herself, sputtering when a cloud of flower hits in the face. 

What’s just occured registers a few beats later and Beca opens her eyes to pin Chloe with a hard look. “Oh, you’re _dead_.” 

Chloe giggles, dashing away when Beca makes a move to retaliate, and she ends up chasing Chloe around their tiny kitchen table, armed with the whole bag of flour. Chloe squeals when Beca snatches her around the waist and pulls her against her. It’s not exactly the right move, as she’s so close to Beca that Beca ends up covering herself in flour about just as much, but she’s laughing too much to care. 

She can’t remember the last time she’s laughed so wholeheartedly. 

It all comes back to Chloe, doesn’t it? The sunshine in Beca’s life continuously battling with the dark cloud hanging over Beca to give her moments of reprieve. The missing piece to Beca's happiness, or whatever that feeling of contentment could be defined as. 

“I surrender! I surrender!” Chloe cries with her eyes screwed shut, holding up both hands and sputtering. 

Beca hums with a smirk and lets go of the now empty bag, but not Chloe’s waist. 

“That was our only bag of flour, Mitchell,” Chloe says with a heatless glare once she’s wiped the flour from her eyes. 

“You started it, _Beale,_ ” Beca fires back, and Chloe bursts into another fit of giggles. A fond smile spreads across Beca’s lips and something tugs at her heart because Chloe’s laughter is the sweetest sound. 

Sweeter than interludes and hooks and bridges. 

Her lips are on Chloe’s before she completely registers what she’s doing. It’s a gentle peck, far from the kiss she’d imagined in her head countless of times before. Short and bashful and then she’s pulling away, her heart hammering against her ribcage as her gaze meets Chloe’s. 

“I, uh,” Beca falters, clearing her throat as panic creeps in her limbs. “Sorry, I should—” 

She tenses out of surprise when Chloe cups her neck and kisses her, melting into the liplock a stretch later as she sways on the spot. Chloe Beale is kissing her, while they’re both covered in flour with awful Christmas music drifting through their tiny Brooklyn studio, and Beca never wants it to end. 

She wants to freeze time right there, because she’s never experienced something like that. It feels as though every single cell in her body is coming alive, as though she’s breaking to the surface after spending too much time underwater. 

The kiss comes to a natural end half a minute later, and Beca’s eyes remain shut for a handful of seconds as she rubs her tingling lips together. She’s afraid to open them, afraid that this might just have been a figment of her own imagination.

Chloe’s sparkling eyes are the first thing she sees when she finally does and Beca feels her chest soar. 

There’s light. 

*

“What’s dis one?” 

“Mmm, the clover.” 

The tiny finger moves up from her elbow to the inside of her forearm. “Dis one.” 

Beca smirks. “Grasshopper.” 

“And that’s me!” Beca opens her eyes to find Avery pointing at the word inked along the side of her wrist. 

Three years after her suicide attempt and at a point where everything in her life clicked into place — becoming a successful producer and proposing to Chloe amongst other things — Beca decided to cover her scars with a beautiful intricate black and white flower tattoo on her forearm. She added meaningful pieces along the way — a four-leaf clover, a sunshine, a lighthouse and an anchor, to name a few — and now sports a full sleeve that Avery is very intrigued by. 

Her last to date is Beca’s nickname for her daughter: _giggles_. A reminder that there’s life and joy and love surrounding her whenever she feels her demons lurking over her shoulder and is unable to completely tune them out.

“Can I color the flowers, mommy?” The four-year old asks, picking up a purple sharpie from the pile on the coffee table. 

“Dinner!” Chloe’s voice carries from the kitchen, along with the mouthwatering smell of homemade lasagna she’s presumably just pulled out from the oven. 

Beca ruffles Avery’s auburn curls and drops a kiss to the crown of her head. “Dinner first, Aves.” 

Beca lifts her up into her booster chair, Chloe having already cut up her lasagna in her kiddie plate. 

“You okay?” Chloe asks before they sit down, looping an arm around Beca’s waist and gazing at her with the same warmth and love as she did when they first got together, even after ten years. 

Beca smiles, leaning over to kiss Chloe’s lips. “Yeah, more than okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you’re staying safe and sane during these weird times!


End file.
